


Where Loyalties Lie

by IsobelSionisFalcone



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Choking, F/M, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-25 10:51:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15639258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsobelSionisFalcone/pseuds/IsobelSionisFalcone
Summary: Caesar is recovering from his recent surgery. He finds his wife's presence eases his boredom.A sequel of sorts to my other fic 'Caesar's Will', but can be read as a standalone fic.





	Where Loyalties Lie

Soft, tender kisses are not often shared by Caesar and his wife. He isn't a gentle man by any stretch of the imagination, neither is she forced to make any such contact with him, but Calpurnia caught him by surprise. Already pregnant, there's no need for intimacy at all. Not practically, anyway. Caesar had been more concerned with his battle plans, until the urgent need for surgery had forced him to rest and recover. He is relieved the sudden headaches are a thing of the past, but sitting idle isn't comfortable, especially when his men need orders.

Calpurnia was politely insistent when he came round; bed rest and plenty of it was needed if he wanted to recover quickly. Too much too soon may have a detrimental effect on his health, so he's been cooped up in his bed for days. The red cloth that surrounds him is taunting him, he's certain, displaying the shadows of his troops as they work and train and he currently has so little control over their tasks.

Now she's kissing him, slowly, softly, her hand cupping his cheek as the sun sets on yet another day spent doing nothing. As her lips touch and tease his own, he finds his hands wandering. Caesar feels the taut muscles at her waist, the lean stretch in her back as she leans over him, palms spanning the length of her upper body in a few strokes. His fingers inch along her spine and they rise and fall with each bone, like tumbleweed blown along a railway line. He realises he has all the time in the world and, because the pleasure of exploring Calpurnia's body is his alone, he wants to take this opportunity, for his own satisfaction, to do just that.

However, she pulls away far too soon for his liking. She's smiling, just a little, thumb tracing his lower lip and for once, he too is speechless, momentarily spellbound by his beautiful wife. Her eyes, the same green as a giant mantis, are much deeper in the dying light, nearly black and he can see little flecks of brown set like stars within them, now that he's looking for long enough.

"Antony wanted me to speak to him. Something about taking a particular dog with me on my next trip," she says. She doesn't make any attempt to move, as though she knows she should, but tearing herself from him would be too much to ask.

"Go," he replies and Calpurnia rises, sitting on the side of the bed to put her boots back on. Caesar watches the way her armour is pulled tight across her shoulders as she bends. When she stands and rolls her shoulders, he says; "I want you back here as soon as you're finished." The gruff edge to his voice disguises the growing need for her company, particularly at night, when the temperature drops and his chest feels cold without her.

Then, she does the unthinkable.

Looking back over her shoulder as she's about to leave his tent, she says; "Of course, love."

She's gone before Caesar can so much as lift his brows. Sex does not equal love. He knows this. Neither does her pregnancy. He has never concerned himself with such ridiculous distractions as love. Their marriage was one of convenience; he needed a worthy woman to carry his child. That she loved him is neither required nor expected. He now thinks the tenderness is a show of her affection, not because they are married, but because she can, because she wants to.

When Calpurnia returns half-an-hour later, hips swaying with her elegant, feminine gait, she runs a hand through her hair to push it from her face. Again, Caesar watches her every move. She toes out of her boots, unbuckles her armour and shucks it off, piece by heavy piece, leaving her in a thin, off-white undershirt and black cotton shorts. Afterwards, she climbs into bed beside him and rests her weight on her elbow. Her smile is seductive, eyelashes framing pretty eyes as her free hand slides up Caesar's chest.

"Now..." she begins softly. "Where were we?"

He lifts a hand to Calpurnia's throat, a reminder of his authority. He doesn't need to apply much pressure for it to feel like a living collar and when she swallows, there's a pleasant stirring in his groin.

"You were telling me why Antony needed to speak with you at this time in the evening," he replies. Her chest begins to rise and fall a little more heavily, his stern gaze no different from the one he bestowed upon her when they first met.

"He wanted me to train one of the dogs," Calpurnia says, her voice quiet as she stills. Her hand lies against his chest, a weight he wants lower down, but instead, he uses his grip around her neck to pull her on top of him. She straddles his hips, frozen in place as she awaits further instruction, be it verbally given or physical.

Her belly is only just starting to turn round. He can feel it against his abdomen as Calpurnia's eyes blaze with fear and arousal. He's half a mind to call her a whore, but that he too takes pleasure from the power imbalance between them. He lets go of her momentarily to lift her shirt over her head, leaving her bare and exposed to him. He pulls her shorts down next and she has to swing her legs to one side to shimmy out of them. Caesar allows it, but as she straddles him again and moves to free his hardening cock, his hand returns to her throat, squeezing just hard enough to make her heart pound.

He's a licence to take all the time he wants. His grip slackens to give her room to breathe somewhat more comfortably and his free hand cups her rounded breast. Calpurnia's own hands gently rest against his shoulders and, as her husband circles her nipple with his thumb, it tightens beneath his touch. This unusual tenderness is almost frightening and for a moment, the Courier worries she may wake with fierce bruises come morning, but that fear is negated when he pinches the hard nub with a delicious pressure that forces her eyelids closed.

Her hips roll just a little and he leans forward to kiss her like before. As Caesar nips her lip, he diverts his attention to her other nipple, stroking over the tip before squeezing the pliant flesh. She shivers and her back arches, then he trails his hand from beneath her ribs, slowly down to the curve of her hip. The leader of the Legion wants to know her body, to map it so intimately that only he would be able to make Calpurnia sing in pleasure. Their marriage was about more than securing heirs, for him at least. Caesar had wanted to claim her before anyone else. She's stronger than most women, more capable, more intelligent. He owns her because it is his right as no ordinary man to have an extraordinary woman by his side.

The Courier mewls gently as he trails his hand up to her breast again and back down, familiarising himself with the softer, smoother parts of his wife's body. Calpurnia fidgets in his grip, desperate for contact where she needs it most, where she aches for his touch. Caesar tightens his fingers around her neck, a warning before she stills and he rewards her obedience, dropping his thumb to her clit. Her pretty lips part and she gives an airy moan as Caesar rubs her bud in hard, steady circles and again, she struggles to keep still. Her hips roll against his still clothed cock and he doesn't reprimand her this time, instead allowing her movements to arouse him further. It's evident the harder he gets, the more pleasure she derives, moaning as she throws her head back.

"Please," Calpurnia begs quietly, trembling as he pushes his thumb against her clit once more.

Caesar too is growing impatient, an insatiable ache settling in his groin and he knows from their previous coupling that only Calpurnia will be able to quell it. Only his wife can fulfil a desire that only surfaced after they married, so without further delay, he reaches to unbuckle his belt. Calpurnia does the rest, prying the various garments from his skin and as her knuckles brush his length, he moans into the heavy air, just as eager as she is. Days spent in his bed have made him irritable and this is certainly helping, occupying his mind as well as his body.

With her husband's hand still encircling her throat, Calpurnia sinks down onto his hot length. Her head falls back as she gives a long, soft moan of bliss and her back makes a beautiful, elegant curve that Caesar runs his hand down. She's itching to press herself against him, to wrap her arms around his neck and make love to him, but he holds her away, watching her expression alter as he bucks upwards.

Calpurnia pauses to gasp, the pleasure running deep and hot through her veins before she begins to move, rocking her hips steadily. Caesar's idle hand grips her waist and he pulls her down with each thrust. They set a rhythm like this, not altogether fast, but hard and continuous. She can't help but whine, her body winding tight like a spring as warmth spreads between her thighs. Caesar breathes heavily between thrusts, as does she, fingers curling around her neck a little more. The lack of oxygen when she needs it most, breathless from exertion and pleasure, only heightens her arousal and she builds ever closer to her climax.

She is beautiful. Caesar has been watchful of her since they wed, noting the sway in her hips as she walks and the way she saunters through the camp, uncaring that she's a woman, that Lucullus would rather snap a collar around her neck than ferry her up and down the river. Silus had tried to bed her, once. He'd suffered a black eye and a bloodied nose for his efforts. Caesar wants that raw power harnessed and under his control, subservient to his will.

Calpurnia's moans increase in pitch as they falter, heads fogged, pleasure and power numbing everything else. She no longer knows where she ends and where her husband begins, her body stiffening in anticipation. To say that she loves him would be wrong, not because she doesn't, rather because she knows she shouldn't. Instead, the Courier allows him to guide her frenzied movements, her head falling back as she moans towards the cloth roof of Caesar's tent.

Panting, hips snapping, sweat forming on their brows, all they know is this strange sort of pleasure and a feeling that's almost like genuine love, but not quite. The pleasure builds, spreading from the base of her spine like liquid heat all over her body. Caesar can feel her trembling in his hold and, with another few deep, well-placed thrusts that make her cry out, Calpurnia's nails dig into his shoulders and she goes rigid for a long moment, groaning into the night. Her climax makes every nerve ending twitch and spark, the deeply satisfying bliss erupting within her as Caesar finally releases her neck. There is no sensation quite like it, air rushing back into her lungs and she thinks that, judging from his closed eyes and tight jaw, that her husband is enjoying it, too.

Enjoyment might not be the right word. As the sweet burning in her core fades, she leans forward to lick and nibble his pulse, tasting sweat as his heart thunders beneath her lips. He barks a ragged moan, too close to care that half of the Fort can most likely hear them. Even in over sensitivity, Calpurnia's walls tightening and fluttering, she finds the strength in her pelvic muscles to squeeze down around his throbbing length and then, with a harshly deep rock of his hips, Caesar's own pleasure hits it peak. Calpurnia shudders and gasps, feeling a different kind of warmth filling her from the inside out. Still shaking with a toxic mix of adrenaline and arousal, she collapses against his chest and he allows it.

They're going to be sticking to each other in the morning, but she doesn't care. Neither does he, apparently, because as his climax dies down and their breathing begins to slow, Caesar's hands come to rest upon her hips. His grip is firm enough that she cannot move without his taking notice, but gentle enough not to hurt. Lying with her head tucked against his neck, she wriggles to free his softening cock and they both sigh softly.

It's almost cuddling, she thinks, but that the mighty Caesar possesses neither the tenderness nor the inclination to do so. She listens to his breathing, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against her own and realises how tired she is. She's comfortable, sated, in love, but she'll never be able to admit it.

Caesar holds her in place, determined not to let her dissappear during the middle of the night. She's like a bird on a chain; ferocious and independent, but always returning to the point of her tether, unable to escape and yet she does not resist. Or perhaps she's used to it.

Either way, she's loyal. That's all Caesar needs her to be. Anything else is an added bonus.


End file.
